


First Thing in the Morning

by fennelseed



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Era, From Sex to Love, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Horny Teenagers, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Morning Wood, Mornings, Romance, Sexual Experimentation, Sexual Inexperience, Smut, Virginity, Wake-Up Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 23:15:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5393876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fennelseed/pseuds/fennelseed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inconvenient: waking up aroused every day, with someone hovering over you because you're a prince. Convenient: having a manservant willing to help you with that. Inconvenient: developing tender feelings for him after taking advantage of him a bunch of times and generally being a prat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Thing in the Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, when I started this I just intended it to be smut. Then it kept wanting to turn semi-meaningful, because apparently the deep true Merthur love cannot be denied. So you get a little of both. Semi-meaningful smut.

The most frustrating part of the day, for Arthur, is first thing in the morning. It's been like that since he was about twelve, and started having those sweetly tormenting dreams that left him waking up hard if they didn't leave him sated and sticky. Now that he's seventeen, he rarely has wet dreams anymore, but he still basically always wakes up hard, and if he were ever, ever left to his own devices, he'd stroke himself off right away and be able to rise from bed more clear-headed.

But of course he's never left to his own devices. Trouble with being a prince is there's always a servant in your face when you wake up. So it takes a lot of grumpy muddling through breakfast and other morning routines before he can either forget about his desire or steal a few minutes of privacy to take care of it. It's not working out terribly well, most days.

There was one good spring, when he was fifteen, that he was woken every day by a lovely serving girl just a year older than him, named Brigid. She had ample breasts and gowns low-cut enough to show them, and the sight of those when he opened his eyes in the morning, with her bending down to whisper him awake, soon propelled him into action. She was happy to let him touch her--just her breasts, but that was fabulous enough. He stroked himself off during those hapless fondles, and she seemed to enjoy exciting him.

Of course his father caught on, through servant gossip. Brigid was sent to work in the laundry where Arthur hardly ever saw her again, and was replaced by an old woman. Uther gave Arthur a stern lecture about keeping pure until marriage, along with a totally contradictory hint that there were certain discreet courtesans available if he wanted to learn about such things. It was enough to baffle Arthur into trying to contain his desires all within his imagination (and his own hand) for a while. Waking up to see the old woman there cooled off some of his morning longings, even.

But then she retired, and now there's Merlin. And Arthur has become confused, because Merlin is odd and ungainly and skinny and impudent, not to mention a boy (well, a man, technically), and Arthur's finding himself attracted to him anyway.

Morning after morning, upon being cajoled out of sleep by Merlin's insolent, gentle voice (because Merlin manages to be both insolent and gentle at the same time), Arthur keeps finding himself achingly aroused. Maybe something in the situation reminds Arthur of Brigid, his most exciting--all right, basically his only--sexual experience so far?

But other than being a youthful servant waking Arthur at his most lustful time of day, Merlin is nothing like Brigid. Merlin doesn't have exposed cleavage Arthur can grope at, for example. Arthur's inexperience now falls on a new side: he doesn't even know for sure what two men _can_ do with each other. He hears things. Some of them seem they can't possibly be true. All of them sound like things Uther would execute people for, at least if they did such things with "pure" young Arthur.

But Arthur keeps waking up hard, with Merlin there. Keeps finding Merlin's oddness intriguing--annoying too, but intriguing. And once in a while, not just in the morning but at any random time of day, Merlin gazes at Arthur like he's drinking him in, like he's dying of thirst and Arthur's a bubbling spring. Arthur therefore suspects Merlin might have the occasional inappropriate thought too. He is at least unquestionably Arthur's loyal servant, despite all his impudence. He puts up with Arthur's moods and commands, and keeps risking his life for him. So would he do the kind of thing Brigid did for Arthur? Would he help Arthur with this thing known as sex, which seems to be both basic bodily need and divine unfathomable mystery?

Arthur could still have those courtesans if he wanted. They'd teach him all that. So why don't they interest him? Why does he want a servant boy a year younger than himself, and probably as ignorant about sex as he is? Is it because then he could feel at least a little bit in charge?

Arthur doesn't like trying to understand his feelings. He has enough to worry about. But the feelings are coiling up tighter every day, like a viper, ready to strike. Arthur's becoming fatalistically sure he's going to act on them one of these mornings.

Which finally he does.

"Goooood morning," says Merlin's voice, ridiculously chipper, drawing Arthur out of a half-sleep. "It's cold and rainy, but never you fear, we have hot breakfast. Eggs, toast, ham, warm milk."

"Mmmf." Arthur's hard, as usual. He's on his stomach, at least. Hides things better that way. He wriggles against the mattress, as if that might help, but of course it only inflames him more.

"How- _ever_ ," Merlin goes on, "it won't be hot anymore if you dally in bed much longer."

"How. How can you be so cheerful at this hour." Arthur cracks open an eye and is rewarded with Merlin's merry grin.

"It's what you pay me for." Merlin picks up a mug from the tray on the bedside table, and in doing so, somehow knocks a spoon onto the floor.

"Merlin, you are the worst. The absolute clumsiest." Arthur's mumbling, not really throwing any true effort into being insulting.

Merlin sets the mug back down and bends to get the spoon. His rump is right there, within Arthur's reach, tight and rounded and oh so emphasized by the way his trousers stretch across it. Arthur's cock throbs. Before he can talk down the impulse, he flashes out a hand and squeezes Merlin's arse.

Merlin yelps, drops the spoon all over again, and turns a startled look onto Arthur. Arthur lets his hand fall after a moment and just watches him, keeping his cheek on the pillow. Though his heart gallops, he gives Merlin a lazy smile, like he's only playing. Which he is. Depending on what you mean by playing.

Merlin's eyes sharpen with what might be interest, and a naughty smile stretches his mouth. "Cheeky," he chides. Then he laughs, like something has occurred to him. "Oh, that's funny. Get it? Cheeky? Because you grabbed my--"

Arthur seizes his elbow and pulls him onto the bed, rolling him expertly onto his back, rising up over him. "Stop. Talking." And this is turning him on even more, pushing Merlin into the mattress like this. Lord help him.

Merlin's still grinning, unaware, even as Arthur pins down his wrists on either side of his head. "Oh my," Merlin says. "You _are_ in a mood this morning."

Arthur needs release so much. If there's even a chance Merlin will do this... "Yes," Arthur says, jaw clenched. "So shut up."

He shifts his body onto Merlin's.

Merlin shuts up. His eyes widen, though Arthur guesses it's surprise, not fear. Arthur's wearing only a nightshirt of thin white linen, and there's no question Merlin can feel his erection. Arthur, after all, can feel the laces of Merlin's trousers and the soft lumpiness of his genitals under them. It's so exciting, having someone's warm body up against him like this. It's been too long. Still holding down Merlin's wrists, Arthur thrusts a couple of times against him, then pauses to see how Merlin reacts.

After all, forcing himself on someone wouldn't excite Arthur. But if Merlin does want him...

Merlin's lips part. His breathing picks up. Then he's getting hard too; Arthur feels it like a rising tide, that shape swelling and firming against his own. Arthur presses down again, and this time Merlin lifts up in response.

That's all the encouragement Arthur needs. Merlin's eyes are latched upon his face, blue and intense, but Arthur drops his gaze, sinks his forehead into the pillow next to Merlin's ear, and ruts harder against him. Merlin whimpers and strains an arm against Arthur's hold. Arthur lets one of his wrists free, still grinding against him, and Merlin settles his hand on Arthur's back instead. His fingertips clench there. He smells of the dried herbs in Gaius' chambers, along with his own personal scent of skin and hair and clothes, and somehow breathing in those smells makes this wilder, more real, more exciting.

Merlin is now harder than before, and rubbing up against Arthur too, and it's too much: Arthur's need sprints out of control, racing ahead. Soon he shudders, coming hot and wet between his nightshirt and belly, grunting into the pillow.

Merlin's still twisting under him, breathing hard. But as Arthur's shivers fade out, his clear-headedness returns, and shame sweeps in after it. It's one thing to do this with a girl when you're fifteen, but he's grown now and this is his manservant, and surely this is _not_ how the prince is supposed to behave.

He slides off Merlin, whisks off his nightshirt, and wipes himself clean with it. He pulls the blanket up over his lap and shoves the damp nightshirt, balled-up, into Merlin's hands. "Get me some clothes. Then breakfast." He doesn't look Merlin in the face when he gives the order. His voice is peremptory, gruff. More like his father's than he wants to dwell upon.

Merlin doesn't move for a couple of seconds, then says, voice a bit squeaky, "Y-yeah. Okay." He edges off the bed. He brings Arthur a tunic, underlinens, and a robe, just like he would any morning.

Arthur eats breakfast, squinting at the rain on the window, trying to look distracted by affairs of state or something equally noble. Merlin says nothing; just stands nearby, hands folded behind him. In the one glance Arthur shoots at him, he's pretty sure Merlin's still hard. It makes him feel guilty, but he's baffled: was he supposed to offer to let Merlin do the same thing, get his own release? Since he didn't, should he offer it now? He wouldn't mind exactly, but how do you go about suggesting that to your servant, anyway?

"Was there anything else you wanted?" Merlin finally asks, voice low and insinuating.

Arthur stirs the yolk of an egg with a crust of bread. He's deliberating over how to answer. Is Merlin angling for that offer? Or should Arthur apologize for using him that way? Is that what Merlin would rather hear? Yes, servants are supposed to do as nobles want, but there are ethical limits, there's a code of honor, as his father would surely remind him...

Someone knocks on his door. It's one of the knights, reminding him of the council meeting starting in a quarter of an hour. Arthur sighs and tells Merlin to help him finish getting dressed and to clear away the breakfast dishes. Merlin nods and bustles about, doing it all as clumsily as usual. But when Arthur steps out to go the council, he gives Merlin a casual farewell nod, and their eyes meet for a second, and Merlin's are still simmering with...something. Arthur's pretty sure it's desire, not resentment.

If so, that's quite flattering, actually.

But it's probably best Arthur hasn't said anything. Not speaking of it is wisest, for now.

Affairs of state do manage to keep Arthur distracted the rest of the day, at least. He doesn't say much to Merlin at bedtime, when it's down to just the two of them again in his chambers, but then, sometimes that's how evenings go. Arthur's tired tonight, more tired than usual after the strange thoughts chasing him all day. He dismisses Merlin and falls asleep.

But then it's morning again. And he's hard and turned-on again--more so than usual, thanks to the memory of yesterday morning. And Merlin is saying, "Time to get up. Wakey wakey."

He sounds cheerful enough, but with a touch of strain to his voice, like he's only pretending everything is normal.

Arthur, on his stomach, blinks the blurriness away and regards Merlin. Blue shirt and red neckerchief. Hands dangling at his sides, fingers twitching. Polite smile that doesn't reach his eyes. Mysterious, Arthur would call his expression.

He's intrigued by mystery. His eyes drift to Merlin's crotch, seeking anything visible that might be happening there, then he catches himself and snaps his gaze back to Merlin's face. Merlin's nostrils flare in a sudden breath, and his glance sweeps along Arthur's back to where the blanket covers him, then returns to Arthur's eyes. "Breakfast?" he offers, huskily.

Arthur reaches for Merlin's wrist. Merlin swallows, steps forward, and folds his knee on top of the mattress. Arthur pulls aside to give him room, and Merlin tumbles down onto his back in the spot Arthur has vacated. Arthur's made a decision. It's likely his balls that have made the decision, actually, but so be it. They're throbbing most convincingly at the moment.

He unlaces Merlin's trousers, while Merlin breathes so quickly that Arthur would think he was terrified, if it weren't for the needy way he's lifting his hips to cooperate, to make it easier for Arthur to slide the fabric down to his thighs.

Merlin's cock is stiff, reddened, fascinating. Arthur drags his fingertips down it, aroused by its heat, its musky smell, the exotic blackness of the hairs at its base. He's keen to know if he can make Merlin come by grasping it the way he grasps himself. He tries it, curling his hand around him, sliding it up and down.

Merlin groans, eyebrows furrowing. He lifts into Arthur's grip, and gazes at him, panting. "I've wanted you to. I didn't know if you'd... This is..."

"Shh. No talking."

A smile flickers across Merlin's lips, and he nods.

Arthur's so hard he aches. He straddles Merlin's thighs, his nightshirt hitching up to expose his groin. Merlin's gaze locks there, and he groans again, and pumps himself upward into Arthur's hand, imploringly.

Arthur starts stroking him, squeezing, sliding to the tip and all the way back down, wanting to explore it all. He's breathing almost as fast as Merlin is. He especially loves feeling how Merlin's getting harder, and watching him writhe with more abandon. If Merlin's anything like himself, those signs mean he's close. Arthur's close too, just doing this to him; his cock is wet at the tip, and everything between his legs is heavy and hot even without being touched. It's filthy, it's heavenly. He shouldn't be doing this, not at all, shouldn't have with Brigid and shouldn't with Merlin, and it probably feels so erotic precisely because it's forbidden.

But Merlin's going along with the forbidden situation with enthusiasm. Now he whimpers with every upward stroke. Arthur tries squeezing a little harder, and going faster. Merlin's cock flushes to total rigidity, his back arches, he sucks in a huge breath, then--it's working; he's coming, trembling; white fluid spurts over his navel and drips warm between Arthur's fingers. It makes Arthur feel supremely triumphant, the way he feels when knocking an opponent to the ground in a tournament, pointing a sword at his neck, and having him call out for mercy. Only far, far better.

Arthur can hardly hold back another second. Merlin's just starting to slump down, satisfied, when Arthur lets go, grips his own cock instead, and in about two strokes, tumbles over the edge, adding his own mess to Merlin's belly.

He takes a few moments afterward to rest there, catching his breath, his muscles all feeling pleasantly unstrung. Then he pulls off his nightshirt, wipes his hand with it, and drops it on Merlin, again donating it to the cause of clean-up. Extra laundry for poor Merlin, but Arthur guesses Merlin doesn't mind so much in this case, if his glowing face and wobbly smile are anything to go by.

"Clothes. And breakfast," Arthur suggests, and whisks a sheet around himself.

"Yeah." Grinning rather dreamily, Merlin cleans off, laces his trousers back up, slides off the bed, and totters to the food tray as if his legs are weak.

Arthur dresses and eats, hoping Merlin won't try to say anything about all this, because Arthur has no idea what to say. This is just a need, just another thing a servant can help with. They help with lots of personal issues, after all, many of them less pleasant than this one. Nothing more to say about it, surely.

But of course Merlin's constitutionally unable to keep quiet. As he's stacking the breakfast dishes, he pauses, looks at Arthur, and says, "I've never...done things like that. Not really. I've never gone that far, certainly not with...anyone like you."

Arthur raises his eyebrows, and tries to sound chilly. "Like me?"

"Well. A prince. You're..." Merlin's gaze falters down, then returns to Arthur, more hesitantly. "Look, I only mean, I don't know what I'm doing, so it's all right if you need to correct me or show me differently."

The submissive words send a new flare of arousal through Arthur, which is remarkable, given it's been less than an hour since that dramatic climax. But he still has no wish to talk about this. "Don't worry about it," he says, aiming to come across as dismissive. "I haven't either, so I wouldn't know."

"Oh." Merlin sounds softly surprised. He goes on stacking dishes, then picks up the tray.

"And we don't talk about it," Arthur adds. "Not with each other, _absolutely_ not with anyone else. It's just something I want done, first thing in the morning, sometimes. There's nothing to discuss. Is that understood?"

Merlin nods at once. But before taking the tray to the door, he gives Arthur a particularly odd look, all fond and tender. Then he goes out to return the tray to the kitchens.

Arthur puzzles over that look. Finally he gets it, and scowls: Merlin thinks he's _special_ , getting to be Arthur's little morning secret, and the first man Arthur's done this with. Well, he's not special. That's absurd. He's just convenient. And yes, he's attractive in his bizarre way; Arthur wouldn't be doing it otherwise. But honestly, Merlin's such a _girl_ , looking all puppy-eyed and sentimental like that.

Even if it is flattering.

Arthur makes a point of treating him absolutely no differently than usual all day. He gives Merlin plenty of brisk orders to care for his horses, his armor, his weapons, his rooms. Should remind him why he's really here.

But before long it's morning again. And Merlin is saying his name softly, close to his ear.

Arthur drags him into the bed, hauls his trousers down, and gets on top of him. He grips both their cocks together, rubbing them against each other in his hand, to see if that works. Works fine, it turns out. Arthur really is learning such fascinating things lately.

Merlin's hand creeps downward, but doesn't touch Arthur yet. His blue eyes flash to Arthur's first, seeking permission. That look, wanton but deferential, inflames Arthur. He grants the silent request: he takes Merlin's hand and wraps it around them both, and guides him in the first few strokes. Merlin, of course, would surely be able to work it out on his own, but it makes Arthur feel so deliciously hot to show him, to feel like they're learning this together.

He comes in Merlin's hand in no time at all, and seconds afterward, Merlin seizes up and spends himself too.

Afterward, Merlin climbs out of bed with the soiled cloth they've used to wipe up. He pauses and leans down toward Arthur's lips, clearly seeking a kiss.

Arthur averts his face, pulling back. Merlin hovers there a second, then takes the hint and goes about his business.

It's partly that Arthur's mouth tastes terrible in the morning and he doesn't want Merlin to get a tongue full of that and find him disgusting. But it's also that kisses are so wrapped up with the idea of...love. Sentiment. Romance. Ideas even more shrouded in divine, unfathomable mystery than sex is. Arthur's unnerved by the feelings that try to shake loose in him when he thinks of those things--or of kissing Merlin. So he's just going to _not_ do it. Not think. Not kiss.

Merlin doesn't seem to mind too much. During the course of breakfast he gives Arthur another dazzled look or two, like Arthur's a room full of sparkling treasure he's just discovered.

It's ridiculous. But sort of endearing. You might as well go on rewarding a servant who's that devoted to you.

And it does count as a reward, Arthur thinks, because clearly Merlin loves what they do together. As the mornings reel along, one after another, Arthur quickly finds that the most exciting part is Merlin's hunger for him. He likes that he's forbidden Merlin to discuss what they do, because then Merlin's desire becomes distilled into near-desperation. He can't act first; he has to wait on Arthur's signal. It makes Arthur feel powerful.

But Merlin's not terribly good at sticking to rules. One evening, about two weeks after they've started spicing up the mornings this way, Merlin pauses in helping undress Arthur for bed. He's standing behind Arthur, having just eased off his jacket, and now he reaches around from both sides, unbuckles Arthur's belt, and slides his hands under Arthur's trousers. At the same time he plants a hot, soft kiss on the back of Arthur's neck. He hasn't tried to kiss Arthur since that one first attempt.

Arthur whips away, leaping out of reach with swordfight swiftness, rounding to glower at Merlin. The caress has made Arthur hard, the kiss has caused some sort of frightening flutter in his belly, and Arthur doesn't want either reaction. He's furious about it. He's only supposed to want some release in the morning because that's what mornings are like. This is night and his body has violated the rules, and so has Merlin.

"Is it first thing in the morning?" Arthur says, cold and dangerous.

"No." Merlin looks a tad scared. "I just thought...we're alone, and I want you, and..."

"Those aren't the rules."

"You look so good all day." Merlin sounds desperate. "I'm supposed to be around you and not notice, not think about it? I don't know how you do it, but I can't."

"Yes, you can, if you want those mornings to happen anymore at all." Arthur wants to _hug_ him, to comfort him. It's really alarming. This isn't morning; why is this happening? He turns his back and paces away. "Go on, that's all I need. You can go."

Merlin shuffles to the door. "Should I be here in the morning?" He sounds so pathetic. It does something painful to Arthur's chest.

"Yes," Arthur snaps. "Go."

Merlin slips out. Arthur barely even hears the latch click.

Arthur storms to the bed, hauls a pillow to the middle of it, and punches it, alternating his fists over and over, until its silk casing gives way and feathers explode all over him.

He's an idiot. In so many ways.

While he's doing all the things Merlin would normally do--cleaning up feathers, struggling into his own nightshirt, blowing out candles--he has plenty of time to come to terms with the thoughts he didn't want to think. His anger fades--or rather, it shifts, so that he's not angry at Merlin anymore, only at himself.

He doesn't sleep much that night. Arthur thought he held all the power in this arrangement, but clearly he's been wrong, because Merlin can do this to him, put him through this kind of torment, just by being his bumbling, unique self. Arthur's learning there are other kinds of power in the world, beyond the kind bestowed through royal blood. And that maybe power isn't even all it's cracked up to be.

He awakens at dawn, before Merlin even gets there. He rises, and rinses his mouth with water from the pitcher to wash out the terrible morning taste. He finds his robe, and sits by the window, gazing down through the panes at the courtyard as the light slowly strengthens.

Merlin slips in almost soundlessly, balancing the breakfast tray. He freezes at seeing Arthur there. "Oh. Are you all right? Why are you out of bed?"

He sounds so concerned. By all rights he should be sulking over how Arthur treated him last night, but instead he's honestly worried about whether _Arthur_ is okay. That sweet pain flares stronger in Arthur's chest. He's getting used to it. It's been with him all night.

He gives Merlin a tired smile. "Yes, I'm all right. Just...woke up early."

Merlin comes over and sets down the tray. He regards Arthur uncertainly. "Well..." His words seem to dry up. He waits. For a command, from his arrogant, inconsiderate prince.

Arthur stands with a sigh and pads over to Merlin, barefoot. Hands in the pockets of his robe, he leans in, angling for a kiss. Slowly, so Merlin can dodge if he wants.

Merlin doesn't dodge. He stays still, and lets the kiss land on his lips. His mouth moves, just a little, in gentle response.

It isn't a long kiss, but it sets Arthur's heart thundering, and leaves Merlin breathing in a quick, trembling way. As Arthur pulls back, Merlin gazes at him in astonished adoration.

"I shouldn't have acted that way toward you last night," Arthur says.

"No, it's all right. I--I broke the rules."

"You break rules of some sort a hundred times a day. I'm used to that. It shouldn't bother me."

A twitch of a smile curves Merlin's mouth. "Well. True. But still."

"No, listen." Arthur rakes his hand through his disheveled hair. "Forget the rules for now. We _should_ talk about it."

"Really?" Merlin sounds hopeful.

"I...I set those rules, and I reacted like that because...I like it too much, what we do. And it scares me. I _want_ to do those things whenever and wherever we like. I'm tempted. And that would be disastrous. If we're not discreet, and gossip gets round, and my father finds out--well, you'd be replaced. Possibly imprisoned. And...I couldn't bear that."

Merlin nods, nibbling his lip, looking at him in that enamored, drinking-him-in kind of way. "I know. I'll be discreet, really. But you...you do like it? You like...me?"

"Merlin, for God's sake. Yes. That's what I'm telling you. I don't want anyone else waking me up. I..." Arthur clamps his lips together tight, the flutter in his chest becoming almost unbearable, then releases the words. "I don't want anyone else doing those things with me. Or spending all their waking hours with me. Or knowing everything you know about me. I only want you. So--so it's important, you see, very important this stays secret, or--"

Merlin cuts off his words, stumbling forward and planting a much longer, sloppier kiss all over Arthur's mouth. His arms tangle around Arthur, and Arthur embraces him back, holding him properly at last. Merlin still smells of his herb-infused self, and his mouth tastes pleasant too, Arthur now finds--warm and damp and completely familiar somehow.

When Merlin breaks loose, he smiles, looking mysterious and wise. "I'm better at keeping secrets than you think." He runs his knuckles down the embroidered hem of Arthur's robe. "And I rather like being your secret."

Arthur's beaming. The fluttery sensation has bloomed and eased into something deliciously lovely all through him. Something divine and unfathomable, perhaps. "Then, I suppose," Arthur says, "we don't _have_ to confine certain activities to first thing in the morning. Might as well throw out that rule too."

"Hmm." Merlin nods, thinking it over. He frowns at Arthur. "But it's first thing in the morning _now_."

Arthur casually unknots his robe and pulls it open. "So it is."

Merlin's gaze drops to the erection jutting out Arthur's nightshirt--there are some things you can't change about mornings--and he closes his hand around it, through the cloth.

Feeling powerful is all well and good, Arthur's finding, but it works out just as well, perhaps even more so, to let down your guard sometimes and try something else. Humility, say. Kindness. Love, if he dares call it that.

Arthur is indeed learning such a lot, in these mornings with Merlin.


End file.
